


of stray cats and lost kings

by galerian_ash



Category: The Sowers Of The Thunder - Robert E. Howard
Genre: Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: The battle of La Forbie is lost. Cahal wakes to find himself not only alive, but prisoner of Baibars — neither of which he is particularly pleased about.





	of stray cats and lost kings

He was not alone.

That was the first thing Cahal became aware of upon waking. He wasn't alone, and he didn't know who the other was. He took care to keep his breathing slow and even, so that as to still appear unconscious, and tried to remember.

The battle had been lost. All had fallen but him, unable to stand against the combined forces of the Kharesmians and Baibars' memluks. He had saluted Baibars, as one king to another, and — then he'd leapt. He'd summoned what strength had still remained in his bleeding body for one final attack.

Cahal remembered nothing more. He didn't even know if his sword had met its target. All he was certain of was that he shouldn't be alive. He should have died out there with the others.

Wanting answers, and not much caring whether breaking his ruse put him in danger or not, Cahal opened his eyes. The room was dark and his sight was hazy, but he could still make out the large figure of a man sitting on a chair.

It was Baibars.

"Did I manage to drag you down into hell with me?" he asked. His voice was hoarse with disuse.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but we are both still alive." As Baibars spoke he turned towards the bed, giving Cahal a clear look of his face. Bandages covered his forehead, coming down at an angle over his face and leaving only one eye visible.

"Ah," Cahal breathed, "but almost."

Baibars bared his teeth in a grin. "Yes. _Almost._ "

Cahal felt his lips curve into an answering smile as he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

\----

He wasn't alone the second time he woke either. The company this time, however, was infinitely more agreeable — even if said companion was stretched out across his legs in a rather uncomfortable fashion.

"You're surprisingly heavy," he informed the red cat, who naturally couldn't care less.

Sighing, Cahal stared up at the ceiling. He'd like to make a run for it, but knew he had to bide his time. As it was, he didn't even know where he was, he was naked beneath the bandages that swathed his body, and he had no weapons.

"Is she bothering you?"

The unexpected voice made him start, and he felt his face flush with anger and shame at being caught unaware. "A relation of yours, I take it? What with you creeping in here as quietly as any cat."

Baibars chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment, malik."

"Do as you wish," he muttered. Then, as Baibars reached for the cat, added, "No, she doesn't bother me. Leave her be."

Baibars took a step back. "Good. She's been your most loyal caretaker."

"What's her name?"

"I haven't given one to her yet. She's a stray who followed me here after I gave her a few scraps of food. I do not yet know if she will choose to stay."

"I see." He met Baibars' gaze with narrowed eyes. "And I? May I also choose to leave?"

"Of course. You're my guest, not my prisoner."

"I somehow doubt it," Cahal mocked. "Why am I here? I don't remember anything after I attacked you."

Baibars leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "You passed out mid-leap. I do not like to admit it, but that's what saved my life. I only lost one eye," he said, a wry slant to his mouth.

"Pity," Cahal replied, letting Baibars take that cryptic comment however he pleased.

Baibars didn't take the bait. His facial expression turned distant, as if he were looking at something other than Cahal lying in bed. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly.

"Then why didn't you just leave me there?" Cahal demanded.

"Because you were my friend."

"Friends? We were never friends. Haroun, Akbar — yes, perhaps so. But you? The true man behind those lies? Never."

Anger glittered in Baibars' remaining eye. His jaw worked for a moment and then he turned his face away, presenting Cahal with a view of the bandaged side. "Very well," he said, voice clipped. "Regardless of how you feel about me, _I_ respected you. And I would not leave someone I respected without a proper burial. I told my men to place your body on a horse, but as they began lifting you they found you to still be drawing breath. I brought you here to heal."

Cahal gingerly sat up and tried to stretch his limbs. His wounds protested the action, and he settled for petting the cat. "And where is here?"

"And old abandoned outpost, on the outskirts of Hirbiya — La Forbie, as the Franks call it."

Silence reigned for a long while, but Baibars made no move to leave — or turn his face to look at Cahal.

"If I am your guest," Cahal finally challenged, "then where is my sword?"

"It shattered as you fell. Beyond repair." He moved to pull a dagger from his girdle and held it out towards Cahal. "Here, a gift."

Cahal slowly took the proffered dagger. It was a simple weapon; no ornate or bejeweled hilt. The only thing that set it apart was the large feline etched into the blade.

It suited its owner. Baibars, the Panther.

"I will return it to you," Cahal swore.

"It is a gift."

"No," he said, as he lifted his head and met Baibars' eye. "I shall return this to you, Baibars."

Baibars silently stared at him until the true meaning of the words dawned on him. "By Erlik," he said, grinning, "you are welcome to try!"

Cahal silently tested the balance of the dagger. It was good, much like his own dirk.

"I truly enjoyed fighting by your side when we were in Jerusalem," Baibars continued, "but I often think of that night in Damietta. When we pitted our strength against each other, and found ourselves evenly matched. _Equals._ "

"Aye, I remember," Cahal said, unable to quell a grin of his own. "I remember looking at you as you lay snoring on the floor, and wondering just how thick of a skull you had. Suppose I know the answer now — thick enough to even shatter swords!"

Baibars tipped his head back and laughed, body shaking with mirth.

It wasn't something he expected outsiders to understand, this relationship they shared. He had just sworn to kill Baibars, and he'd meant it, yet there was no hatred in his heart. Never had been.

The gods had made them enemies, and they both had their own fates to fulfill. Cahal would do his part. But that didn't mean he couldn't take pleasure in the sight and sound of Baibars laughing.

When he settled down he gave Cahal a serious look. "I only ask that you wait until you have healed. I don't want you to aggravate your wounds; you've lost too much blood already."

Cahal inclined his head in agreement. "I will wait until we have both healed. And until you've gotten used to being half-blind."

Baibars snorted. "You need not concern yourself with me," he said, as he began to leave the room. "I'll see to it that good food is sent up, to ensure your quick recovery."

\----

"Come, bogatyr, let's ride! I am sick of this place, and want to feel the wind in my hair. I know you feel the same way."

Cahal couldn't deny that. He'd spent days confined to his bed, just sleeping and eating and healing. He'd gotten regular visits from both Baibars and the red cat, but it had still nearly driven him mad. It was a relief to finally venture outside, and today he had walked farther than before. He'd made it down to the paddock, and had been looking at the horses when Baibars joined him.

"Choose," Baibars said, moving his arm in a sweeping motion towards the horses. It was a magnanimous gesture, one that instantly soured Cahal's mood.

Thus the choice was simple, however petty of a reprisal it was. "That one," he said, pointing towards the white stallion that Baibars had ridden during the battle.

Baibars didn't protest, nor did he show any signs of displeasure — but his voice was unusually sharp as he ordered the horses to be saddled.

That was satisfaction enough, and Cahal didn't bother hiding his smirk as the servant handed him the stallion's reins. Baibars mounted a blue roan, and urged it into a trot almost immediately.

Cahal followed, but didn't make any effort to catch up. He took his time, getting used to the stallion and giving it a chance, in turn, to get used to him.

After a while Baibars turned in a wide arc and came up beside him. "Do you see that hill over there?" he asked.

"Aye."

"The ground is even all the way there, so we can let the horses run without any risk of injury. Are you up for a race?"

"I am," Cahal answered. They both gave their horses free rein, and went charging down the land in full gallop.

Baibars had been right. It felt wonderful to have the wind in his face, hard enough to sting his eyes. It was just what he'd needed, and he found himself not even caring who won the race.

It seemed like Baibars felt the same way. His booming laughter carried across to Cahal, loud enough to not be drowned out by the wind or the sounds from the horses. He even belted out a few lines from one of the riding songs he'd sung that night in Damietta, which made Cahal feel like he was racing down the Mongolian steppe. It made him feel _alive_ , in a way he hadn't felt for a long time — as if some of Baibars' vibrant exuberance had penetrated his own weary soul, and changed it for the better.

They reached the hill in unison. The stallion disliked being reined in and danced beneath him in rebellion. It reared up once, and then settled. He gave it a couple of hearty pats on its warm neck, before lifting his head to take in the view.

The sea lay in front of them. It hadn't been too long since Cahal had crossed it, but it felt like a lifetime ago. In some way it was, he supposed.

"Do you miss your home, malik?" Baibars' voice was low, and he did not meet Cahal's eyes when he turned his head. So Cahal watched him for a moment; watched him staring out over the water with an oddly pensive look on his face.

"What man doesn't?" Cahal finally responded. "But what was once mine is gone forever. I told you that. There's nothing for me in Ireland, not anymore."

"I miss the wide open steppes of my homeland. All you could see was the blue skies above, and the vast land, stretching out in front of you all the way to the horizon. It made you feel..." he hesitated, as if searching for the right word. "It made you feel small."

"Small?" Cahal questioned. "I cannot imagine you ever feeling small."

"I meant it in a good way. Not small like the way I felt in the slave markets of El Kahira."

"Three pieces of silver," Cahal said quietly. "You were worth more than that."

Baibars finally looked back at Cahal. He had removed his bandages the day before last, and with the wind whipping his hair away from his face Cahal had an unobstructed look of the damage he'd done. The scar extended all the way across Baibars' forehead, and down over the ruined eye. The eyelid was closed, and would forever be so, over the empty hollow where his eyeball had once been.

Regret flooded Cahal, so unexpectedly and violently that it made him feel ill.

"Does it look that bad?"

Cahal swallowed. "It's not that," he responded, though he knew lying would be a better course of action than speaking the words he was about to. "When I met you as Akbar I instantly recognized you, much because of your eyes. I thought to myself that surely in all the world there was not such another pair of eyes."

"Then I am sorry, malik, that there is no longer such a pair." His head tilted to the side, regarding Cahal in an almost searching manner. "But I harbor no grudge. In fact, it might serve me well — by making my enemies underestimate me. Already they move against me, whispering that Baibars was dealt a fatal blow in the battle against the Franks. Hidden away to die with a whimper, they say!"

"They clearly don't know you," Cahal scoffed.

"And that shall be their undoing," Baibars declared, jovial and eager. "I ride out tonight to deal with them. I'll return when I am done."

Cahal frowned. "You expect me to still be here? With you gone nothing stops me from escaping."

"A guest need not escape," Baibars said serenely. "But yes, I do expect you to stay. You haven't returned my dagger to me yet, have you?"

"Perhaps I won't be given the chance, if it's _you_ who have underestimated them."

"Be at ease, malik. No dogs will steal the tiger's prey." His eye sparkled with reckless and wayward mirth, and before Cahal could answer he had driven his horse forward.

The stallion pulled at the reins, eager to follow, and Cahal let it. They rode along the surf before venturing out a bit deeper. Water splashed against his face, and with a laugh he reined in to a halt. Baibars did the same, grinning at him. "Afraid to get wet?" he asked.

Cahal shook his head. "I had a special place in my homeland. A small waterfall, hidden deep in the forest. I would go there when I could, to bathe and forget about all else. I'd undress and then stand under the water, letting it fall down on me."

"I wish I could have seen that."

There was no mistaking the meaning of Baibars' words. No mistaking his intent gaze, nor the way it made something inside of Cahal stir to life.

Cahal turned the stallion and urged it into a gallop, back towards the outpost. It was another race, only this time he raced against himself.

It was a race he knew he'd lose; lost long before it had even begun. There was no defeating the emotions that warred within him. They had lodged themselves there, in silent treachery, wrapped around his heart in a manner that made it impossible to rip out.

The dagger hung heavy at his girdle.

\----

"Wake, bogatyr! Wake and come celebrate with me."

Cahal blinked into the darkness. Baibars stood leaned over him — damn him and his catlike stealth.

"You've returned," Cahal mumbled, sitting up and running a hand over his face. Baibars had been gone for weeks, and with no way of getting news Cahal had been on the verge of ill-advised action. Riding out in search of him would have been sheer madness, but it had started to seem like the only recourse.

"I've returned, yes — I have escaped Baibars, that great oaf. I am my own man tonight! A free man, who can forget about the affairs of the world and do as he pleases. So come, malik, let us go out and drink again."

He was playing the mummer once more, apparently. Cahal should refuse, but the wild energy of Baibars — or Haroun, rather — was impossible to resist. What was it Baibars had said? That it made life worth living? Cahal smiled. So be it, then. They would both live, this one night.

"Ready a pair of horses. I'll get dressed and meet you down there, and then we can both make our escape from Baibars."

Baibars grinned, and with a nod he left.

It didn't take long to get dressed, and so Cahal joined him a few moments later. The dagger was at his girdle. He was ready.

"For you," Baibars said as he handed over the reins of the white stallion. It whickered softly in greeting.

They rode in to Hirbiya. It was a small town, not much more than a village, but it had a tavern. Cahal chose a table for them while Baibars went to converse with the innkeeper. His tone of voice was light at first, but soon turned into a threatening growl when the man gestured rudely at Cahal.

Cahal resisted the urge to laugh. If only the poor bastard knew who he was trying to refuse service to.

"Problem?" he asked as Baibars joined him.

"Men are fools. Nothing new, malik."

Cahal hummed. "Did you tell him who you were?"

"Of course not. I merely asked him if he was certain he wanted to make us into his enemies." Baibars shrugged, a wicked gleam in his eye as he continued, "He then decided that he'd prefer his tavern to not be a pile of rubble."

"Not that big of a fool, after all!"

A servant came with wine pitchers, and then with kumiss. They drank, and laughed, and sang — just like they had done in Damietta. Not quite to the same excess, and there was no cudgel-play, but otherwise it was much the same.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when Baibars grabbed one of the leather skins filled with kumiss and stood up. "Let us drink in private," he said. "There's a room for us upstairs."

Cahal took hold of his goblet and got to his feet. "Lead the way."

The room was simple. A table on which stood a burning candle, two chairs, and a large bed. Simple, but enough.

Baibars was the one who'd made all overtures so far, and Cahal was determined to change that. Perhaps he could keep a vestige of control that way. Perhaps.

He put down his goblet and moved to stand in front of Baibars, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I thought of you while I was gone," Baibars murmured. "I wanted so badly to believe that it wasn't just my own desire I had seen reflected in your eyes."

Words lost to him, Cahal reached up to gently tug the band of cloth from Baibars' hair. He ran his hand through the long locks, before letting his fingers trace the line of that square jaw.

Baibars let out an impatient grunt and surged forward, capturing Cahal's lips in a bruising kiss. He gave as good as got, and it was Baibars who finally broke the contact, grinning widely as he panted. "You kiss like a hero, too!"

Cahal snorted. "Stop talking and get undressed."

With a mocking bow, Baibars did as ordered. He withdrew a small flask from his clothes before tossing them on one of the chairs. Cahal dropped his clothes by the bed and then lay down.

Baibars joined him shortly, straddling his hips. He drew a sharp breath of air through his clenched teeth, something which elicited a low chuckle from Baibars.

His hands roved over Cahal's stomach and chest, before moving down to grip his right hand. He held it in one of his own, as he poured some of the contents of the flask into Cahal's palm.

The oil was slick and warm, even more so when Baibars guided his hand to the right place. Cahal worked him open slowly, trying to be gentle despite his own increasing need. The way Baibars moved his body, rocking down to meet every thrust of Cahal's fingers, didn't help matters.

He was unable to swallow down a moan when Baibars finally reached for his length, coating it, too, in the oil.

Baibars shifted, and then slowly began to sink down. Cahal gritted his teeth and fought to stay still, as his length entered Baibars in the most agonizingly slow manner.

"You are a very considerate lover," Baibars said. He was teasing, like the devil he was.

Cahal grimaced. "Hardly. I was just thinking of something you once said. You claimed that neither of us would ever yield to the other, did you not? It doesn't seem that way now."

Baibars' smile turned sharp. "Am I not on top?" He punctuated his words by lifting up and then snapping his hips back down, wringing another moan from Cahal's throat.

With a guttural snarl Cahal grabbed his waist and flipped them both over. Baibars stared up beneath him, his single eye glittering in the dark.

Cahal began to move. The world faded into nothingness.

\----

The candle was at the end of its life. The flame would soon extinguish itself. Cahal lay still and watched it for a moment longer, before silently twisting his head to look at Baibars.

He was sleeping.

He was sleeping, completely unguarded and open for attack, next to the man who had sworn to kill him.

Slowly, slowly, Cahal reached down to the floor. He'd deliberately thrown his clothes there, and now he pulled up the dagger from the pile.

Cahal sat with it in his hand for a long time. Not even when he bent over Baibars' prone body did he react. He truly had fallen asleep.

He felt a bitter smile tugging at his lips. As much as he'd like to rail against Baibars' foolishness, it was nothing compared to his own. If anything, Baibars knew him better than he knew himself.

He gripped the dagger tighter, and then drove it down into the bed next to Baibars. It'd be the first thing he saw upon opening his eye.

Cahal got up and silently dressed. He wanted to leave without looking back, but even that did he fail. And so he stood watching Baibars' sleeping form until the candle went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Only then did he leave.

\----

He rode aimlessly for days. Every time he decided upon a destination — Alexandria, Cairo, even back to Ireland — he changed his mind and traced his own steps back. Thus he never truly strayed far from Hirbiya.

Not that he knew if Baibars was even still there. Why would he be? His ambitions would carry him off elsewhere; it was a wonder he'd stayed at the outpost with Cahal for as long as he had.

So it'd make no difference if he returned, because Baibars would not be there. And if he was... If he was still there, then...

It was with that dim reasoning that Cahal turned his horse and rode back.

\----

The gray light of dawn was just starting to illuminate the dark when Cahal crept into the outpost. There were still servants about — none of which attempted to stop him from entering — and horses in the paddock, but that didn't have to mean anything.

He held his breath at he reached the room he'd stayed in. He nudged the door open and entered.

His bed was occupied.

Baibars and the red cat lay there, both soundly asleep.

He stood still and stared at them for a long while, as some great knot inside of him finally untangled itself. He felt at peace as he walked forward, a strange and unfamiliar feeling, but wholly welcome.

"Baibars."

His eye slid open. It focused on Cahal, slowly looking him up and down. "You look as if you're about to keel over."

Cahal ignored him. "You should name that cat," he mumbled.

Baibars frowned. He reached up to take hold of Cahal's arm, and then yanked him down into bed. Cahal went willingly — he was covered in dust and sweat, but if Baibars didn't mind then neither did he.

The cat minded, however. She let out an offended meow and then left the bed.

"You're weary," Baibars said, hands moving to undo Cahal's clothing. "Close your eyes and rest."

"A name," Cahal repeated, struggling trying to stay awake.

Baibars' hands stilled. "Why?"

"Because your stray cat will be staying." It was a declaration, the best he could give. He only hoped that Baibars would understand what he was trying to say; would understand which stray he was truly speaking of.

Baibars' lips curved into a smile. "I am glad to hear it, Cahal."

**Author's Note:**

> There is one historical fact here, namely that Baibars loved cats! He endowed at least one cat garden for strays to live in, where they were fed and taken care of.


End file.
